


Scientists Don't Visit Brothels

by guilty_pleasures_abound



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Brothels, Comfort, Condoms, Crushes, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, First Time, Ford Pines' Portal Adventures, Friends With Benefits, Grinding, Loss of Virginity, Multiverse, Napping, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Prostitution, Space Stations, Touch-Starved, Vaginal Fingering, Woman on Top, Young Ford Pines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21766420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilty_pleasures_abound/pseuds/guilty_pleasures_abound
Summary: “In my... current circumstance, I’m not really afforded the ability of connection, and I just...” he took a long breath in, then out, looking into the bottom of his mostly empty glass, the utter defeat in the slump of his shoulders and the sad loneliness in the downturn of his mouth speaking volumes. “I was just hoping, I suppose, that I could... maybe just lay with you. Just... cuddle, I guess. Feel a little less like I’m cut off from the living.”[Female reader]
Relationships: Ford Pines/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 318





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It took me so much longer to write this than it should have I'm so sorry.
> 
> Small world building thing: I took inspiration from _Firefly_ for the set up of this; specifically the "Companion" aspect. If you're unfamiliar, "Companions" in the Firefly universe are basically escorts/high end call girls; they're a respected, coveted profession with a union and federal regulations and such. That's the story here. You're at a galactic station out in space, offering your services to the travelers who pass through on their way to other planets.
> 
> And, as usual, [nschimm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nschimm/pseuds/nschimm) is great at being a cheerleader for my sins.

Considering the fact that you were on an intergalactic space outpost, there wasn't really such a thing as "day" and "night." Regardless, there were definitely "day" and "night" shifts, where the traffic through the door ebbed and flowed with a fair amount of regularity. And you hated day shift.

It was boring. Waiting around in flimsy lingerie was really not that interesting. On a busy night, you barely had time to put it back on before a new client was pulling it off you again, and it was shifts like that that made you forget how uncomfortable it could be.

At least shifts like that were interesting. The money didn't hurt either. The complete opposite of the "day" shift.

So a seemingly human man coming through the door was a welcome distraction by far.

It immediately made you perk up, crossing one knee over the other and leaning back on the cushion of the chaise-lounge you were sitting on; an appealing pose mean to draw his attention if you could. Around you, your fellow coworkers were doing much the same; a sensual lean here, a pleasing pose there.

It wasn’t hard to tell that this guy had never visited a pleasure house before in his life; his nervousness may have only been more obvious if he had thrown up right then and there. It almost made you feel bad for him—if he was this much of a mess in front of people who were being paid to lavish attention on him, you couldn’t imagine how he was talking to someone he was interested in organically.

“Any of our beautiful lovers would delight in fulfilling your needs today, Mr Corduroy,” Madame Florence told him as she lead him into the parlor to choose who would be his companion for the next couple of hours. “When you have made your choice simply let them know, and they’ll show you upstairs for your two hour appointment.”

He nodded stiffly, and you could see his throat bob as he swallowed nervously, looking around the room like he was surrounded by flesh-eating predators. You were surprised he hadn’t changed his mind and bolted for the door yet honestly, and something about him stirred up the sympathy in you. It was time to be proactive.

Sliding from the chaise-lounge, you gave him a little smile as you managed to be the first to approach him and introduce yourself.

“Hello,” he murmured, awkwardly offering his hand for you to shake. Cute.

“So what is it that you do, Mr Corduroy?” you asked conversationally, linking your arm through his and steering him back toward the chaise-lounge to sit with you. Irritatingly, another girl sat herself on his other side, batting her eyelashes at him in a lame attempt to steal his attention. Which in and of itself wasn’t _bad_ per se; Madame Florence encouraged, when possible, for multiple people to chat with each client, remind them that they had their choice of many kinds of lovers here, that they were free to chat and decide on whoever they wanted. The problem was that you knew this _particular_ girl had a tendency to come on strong. That worked with most clients, they delighted in her forward and confident attitude, but you had a feeling that would be overwhelming to this particular gentleman.

“Doctor, actually,” he murmured, staring at his knees instead of at either of you, allowing you to cozy up to him despite the nervous bounce of his leg. “I’m a scientist.”

“A scientist, huh?” you asked, intrigued. “What’s your area of study?”

“A bit of everything,” he said vaguely.

“Funny, me too,” said the woman on his other side, her fingers creeping up his thigh in an attempt to be seductive. “I’m a bit of a ‘jack of all trades,’ as they say.”

 _Too forward, moron,_ you thought, as exactly what you predicted played out; his face went scarlet, his hand reaching down in a mild panic to stop the progression of her fingers, removing her hand and placing it back into her own lap in a clear attempt to be polite but insistent.

“I—I’m sure you are,” he stammered.

“You know the rest of that saying is ‘Jack of all trades, master of none,’” you couldn’t help but dig a little.

“Yes, it is.” Doctor Corduroy seemed surprised, if the slight rise of his eyebrows was anything to go by, his attention refocusing on you.

“Funny how time erases the second half of sayings like that. Funny how it changes the meaning, as well,” you added.

“Indeed,” he agreed, “Did you know that the phrase ‘Blood is thicker than water’ is a half saying as well? It’s actually ‘The blood of the covenant—’”

“‘Is thicker than the water of the womb,’” you finished for him with a little nod and a smile. “Yes, that’s a rather infuriating one, isn’t it?”

“Very,” he agreed. In your peripheral, you could see the other girl scowling, clearly sensing that any interest she might have gotten from him was gone. Tough luck, sweetie.

“May I get you a drink, Doctor?” you decided to offer. “We can pop into the bar in the next room or… I have a small selection upstairs?”

Decision time, Doctor Corduroy. Are you going to bolt or follow through?

His eyes widened slightly, the blush back on his cheeks, but after a moment and a deep breath in, he nodded. “Yes, that would be… yes. Please. Excuse me.”

That last phrase was clearly directed at the girl on his other side, who quickly schooled her face back into a look of passive pleasantness as the two of you rose from the chaise-lounge and began to travel upstairs.

“Oh,” he said as you both crossed the threshold to your room, looking around with a degree of surprise. It was not the first time you’d gotten that reaction.

“Were you expecting a dungeon?” you teased, looking around with him at the simply furnished room. Clean white sheets and a white comforter adorned the bed, with a white wrought iron headboard. Other than that there was a single loveseat, a small mini-fridge with several glasses on top, and a dresser, which was the only truly naughty furniture in the room, as it held a variety of toys, lubes, and restraints in its drawers.

“Well…” he stuttered a bit, the blush on his face intensifying. “Maybe not a _dungeon_ , but… something more risque, perhaps. But I must confess this is far less intimidating, so I’m not complaining.”

You giggled, patting his arm encouragingly. “Well, I’m glad for that. Drink?”

You released his arm to go to the mini-fridge, opening the door to show him the assortment of drinks inside. “I’m no mixologist but I can do a half decent mix drink as long as it’s not too complicated.”

“Are you drinking?”

“I can probably get away with one, if that would make you more comfortable.”

“Then I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

You bent down to get a better look at the bottles, trying to find what you were looking for. He was quiet as you got out your favorite liquor, mixing you both drinks quickly and easily. In your peripheral vision, you could see him trying to unobtrusively look around the room, his curiosity amusing you.

“There we are!” you chirped, giving him a chance to look back to you before you turned to hand him his drink. “Hope you like it, let me know if it’s not strong enough.”

He nodded as he took it from your hand.

“Cheers,” you murmured, clinking your glass lightly against his with a smile.

“Cheers,” he said in return, before taking two big swallows that nearly drained the glass, while you sipped demurely at yours. It seemed a bit of liquid courage was just what he needed.

“So, doctor,” you asked him. “what would you like to do first today?”

“Ford,” he said with an awkward rub of his free hand on the back of his head. “You can call me Ford.”

“Ford it is. What would you like first, Ford?”

For a brief moment he looked a mix of panicked, ashamed, and utterly embarrassed, and it suddenly dawned on you that this man may not just be a virgin to the pleasure house experience; he might be a virgin, _period_.

“I have a confession to make,” he began. “I’m not... well. My motivation for coming here wasn’t a drive for sex.”

That was a new one, and a little concerning, if you were being honest. Sometimes a statement like that meant something fetish, or BDSM related, which could be fine, depending on what it was.

“Okay...” you replied, prompting him to continue.

“In my... current circumstance, I’m not really afforded the ability of connection, and I just...” he took a long breath in, then out, looking into the bottom of his mostly empty glass, the utter defeat in the slump of his shoulders and the sad loneliness in the downturn of his mouth speaking volumes. “I was just hoping, I suppose, that I could... maybe just lay with you. Just... cuddle, I guess. Feel a little less like I’m cut off from the living.”

He looked up, dejected and appearing like he was prepared to be kicked out the door with a slap to the face.

It certainly wasn’t a request you had gotten before, but you couldn’t say that it was an unwelcome one. He had already paid to be there, it was his time to request what he pleased, and you could say with complete authority that it was the most mild, unintimidating desire you’d ever been asked to fulfill for a man.

“We can do that,” you said.

He immediately perked up, a spark of hope peeking through in his eyes.

“Really?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“It’s not... too silly of a request?”

You couldn’t help but chortle, taking another sip of your drink. “Honey, I once had a fella who wanted to see if he could juggle while I sucked his dick. _That_ was a silly request.”

He blushed, probably at the crashness of your phrasing, but still there was a little smirk of amusement in the corner of his mouth.

“Could he?”

“Until I deep throated him, yeah.”

He coughed awkwardly, hurriedly looking back down to his glass before downing the rest, and you hid your smirk behind your own glass. He was cute, this scientist.

“Right,” he said when the glass was drained. “Right… uh. Should—should we?”

He indicated vaguely to the bed, so you stepped forward to collect his glass from him and leave it on top of the mini-fridge along with yours.

“We should,” you nodded, taking his hand and coaxing him towards it.

“Do you—” he cut off whatever question he was about to ask, his free hand going to the back of his head again and rubbing nervously against the short brown hair.

“What?” you encouraged.

“Do you have… anything else… you could put on?” His cheeks were scarlet, his awkwardness intensified. “Not that it’s not—it’s lovely! You’re lovely, it’s just… er… doesn’t seem like it’s going to be very comfortable.”

It wasn’t, and his consideration for your comfort was a refreshing change you were in no way expecting.

“I can change,” you murmured. “Is there something—?”

“Whatever you would want to wear if you weren’t… um, on shift?”

“I can do that.”

He seemed relieved, letting go of your hand to allow you to change, and you considered for a moment, biting your lip. Not many people realized it, but the pleasure house wasn’t just a place of business; it was housing, with each “entertaining room” attached to a normal living space that each worker could live in during their off hours. The door was perfectly hidden, embedded into the wall in such a way that it was seamless, masking it from those who weren’t meant to know of it.

It was against protocol, allowing a client to see the location of a door, despite the fact that the doors had hand scanners, severely hindering anyone entry that didn’t have the correct handprint.

Still, looking at Ford, with his adorable blush and owlish eyes, your instincts told you that it would be okay; that he was safe, and respectful, and allowing him to see where you disappeared every day after your shift wouldn’t be harmful.

“You can get on the bed, if you want,” you murmured, stepping up to the wall and tapping gently on the space where you knew the hand scanner to be. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh that’s clever,” he blurted as you pressed your hand on the now activated hand scanner, the door’s seams appearing only as it slid open.

“It is,” you agreed, stepping through with a little smile thrown over your shoulder.

He was still looking with impressed interest at the door as it slid closed behind you, and you hurried through your apartment to change into a soft plain t-shirt and cotton shorts, leaving the lingerie in a disorganized pile on your bed to be dealt with later.

Then it was back to the room, stepping through the hidden door once more.

He had sat on the edge of the bed, hands nervously rubbing his knees as he continued to look around. His gaze shifted to you, however, a relieved little smile tugging up the corners of his mouth as he took in your new attire.

“That looks so much more comfortable,” he remarked, and you grinned at him as you stepped back toward the main entrance to the room in order to activate the room interface. A few taps on the interactive wall, and you pulled up the active customer list, selecting his name to officially start the time he had paid for with you, as well as dim the lights a bit; you deemed 60% acceptably comfortable.

“You’re already my favorite customer of all time just for letting me wear this, you know that, right?” you informed him, stepping back toward the bed with a little smile.

He gave a surprised laugh, his eyes closing and his hand rubbing the back of his head again. It was a nervous tick of his for sure, and strangely endearing.

“I’m honored.”

“Alright, come here!” There had been enough delay, time was wasting! You turned down the blanket on the bed and settled in on the clean sheets, feeling a little weird to be doing something so casual in this particular room. “Shoes off, jacket off, anything else you want to take off. You can leave it all on top of the dresser.”

He hurriedly obeyed, taking off his boots, socks, belt, and jacket, but leaving on his sweater and trousers. He was probably going to overheat, keeping all that on, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

Then he was lying down, looking nervous but eager and completely unsure what to do with his body. Thankfully, physical contact was something you were very practiced in.

“C’mere, honey,” you murmured, taking his glasses off and hooking them on the top of the headboard before scooting closer, guiding him where you wanted him, until you were lying on your back with his head tucked just under your chin, his body pressed in a warm, solid line down your side and his arm around your waist.

“How’s this?” you asked, petting your hand over his pleasantly soft, thick hair as he let out a long, relieved sigh, his body practically melting against yours. Damn, how long had it been since he’d had a simple cuddle?

“I know it’s silly,” he mumbled, his arm tightening a little against your side. “Thank you for indulging me.”

You chuffed, gently massaging along his bicep as your other hand continued to pet over his hair. “Honestly, I don’t mind. It’s a nice change of pace.”

He hummed, adjusting his head a tiny bit, and you couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Let me know if this position gets uncomfortable for you.”

He hummed again in affirmation, then the both of you lapsed into silence for several long minutes, leaving you to stare absentmindedly at the ceiling.

This was… nice. Really nice. Some guys liked to cuddle a little after they fucked you, and as long as their allotted time allowed for it, you typically let them. But to specifically have a session be entirely about it—for it to be the only thing on the menu—was entirely new. You were finding that it was rather pleasant.

“May I ask you something?” Ford eventually said, drawing you out of your reverie.

“Sure.”

“How long have you been on this station?”

It was a day of firsts, it seemed. Not many men were interested in engaging with “small talk.” Or pillowtalk, as the case may be.

“Three years,” you replied truthfully.

“What brought you here?”

“I’m on the run from the law,” you joked. “Full on gunslinger, me.”

The real reason was far more mundane; it had simply been the call of open space, the opportunity to see a bit more of the galaxy, meet new races and people outside of your boring old routine on earth. It was one of your regular customers that had made it happen, too, putting in a good word about you to Madame Florence when you inquired about the position.

“Me too,” he said dryly, making you chortle, fingers sinking into his thick hair then making a fist, squeezing your grip a little in order to give a gentle tug.

His reaction was adorable, his breath stuttering and a shiver twitching down his neck and shoulders. It was kind of a shame that he didn’t want to sleep with you; you could have fun with this one. Instead, you returned to petting his hair as you were before, letting him regain his composure.

“I thought you said you were a scientist. All a ruse to get me to think you’re respectable?”

“No, I’m a scientist. I dabble in many things, but my main focus is anomalies.”

“Oh, like creatures with unusual amounts of heads and stuff like that?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“What got you interested in that?”

He was quiet for a moment, then lifted his head to look at you, his expression conveying weary apprehension. “Are you… you didn’t... notice?”

You racked your brain, trying to figure out what you were meant to have noticed. You looked him over; did he have double pupils or something? Gills? There was nothing you could immediately see, so you hedged uncomfortably around your answer.

“I, uh… what haven’t I noticed?”

His eyes narrowed a bit in scrutiny, but softened a few moments later, seemingly accepting your genuine confusion.

Wordlessly he sat up, then held up his hand, palm facing you. You hadn’t noticed before, but now that he was calling attention to it, it became clear what he was referencing; six fingers, not five.

“Oh!” you couldn’t help but murmur in interest, sitting up as well and reaching for his hand before properly thinking about it. He flinched a little, making you hesitate, your own hand still outstretched. “Oh… sorry. May I…?”

He gave a little nod, allowing you to press your palms together, aligning your thumb and pointer finger with his and letting the rest fall into place. Gently, you traced your five fingers up his until you reached his fingertips, the additional digit truly standing out then.

“Must be a nightmare finding gloves,” you murmured, shifting your hand slightly, realigning your pinkie to be pressed against his extra and the other fingers aligned with it, leaving his pointer bare this time as you traced your fingers back down.

He blew a little huff of air from between his lips, letting you lace your fingers through his despite the uneven distribution that left his spare without a partner. “You could say that. You really didn’t notice?”

You shook your head, looking from your entwined hands to his face. “I really didn’t. But that’s what got you interested in anomalies?”

“Being one? Yes, it was a rather good motivation.”

You looked back to his hand again, a moment later making the spontaneous decision to lean in and kiss his extra finger.

His little intake of breath drew your gaze back to his face, finding him blushing and looking a little star struck.

If circumstances were different, you might have taken his finger into your mouth, a little tease that you had no doubt would have gotten him rock hard. As it was, you could tell you had already flustered him, and that wasn’t supposed to be the point of this; he wanted comfort and companionship, not sex.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly. “Couldn’t help myself.”

His cheeks got a little pink, his gaze dropping bashfully from yours, but surprisingly, he didn’t let go of your hand. “S’alright.”

“Say,” you suddenly said, giving his hand a small squeeze. “Would you like a massage or something?”

His eyes widened a little, that pink on his cheeks intensifying.

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmured. “Honestly, your company is enough.”

“I don’t mind,” you assured him with a soft smile. “If you really don’t want to that’s fine, I just thought it might be nice. Help you relax a bit more, seems like you need it.”

He looked conflicted, biting his lip with uncertainty.

“It’s your show, honey,” you reminded him, “I’m here to make you happy. I won’t be offended if you just want to go back to the cuddling.”

He looked indecisive for a few moments more, before finally giving a little nod.

“That would be… amazing, actually,” he confessed. “If you’re sure…?”

“Lay down” you said authoritatively, letting go of his hand and getting to your knees beside him, ushering him to lay down. “And take that sweater off so i can actually get to you.”

His hands fumbled with the hem, but at least he obeyed, stripping the sweater off to reveal a plain white undershirt, which he left on as he moved to lay on his stomach on the bed, arms tucked under his head. You would have preferred his torso completely bare—it would make working the muscles of his back easier—but maybe you could ease him into that. In the meantime, you folded his sweater and got off the bed to put it with his other clothes on the dresser.

“Any injuries I should know about?” you asked as you rejoined him on the mattress, shuffling forward on your knees until you could swing one leg over his hips, hovering over him and lightly petting both hands down his back.

“Some scars,” he confessed. “Does that matter?”

“Depends,” you said. “It might be more sensitive to pressure, depending on how fresh they are, and I don’t want to hurt you. Let me know if I go too hard, alright?”

He nodded, so you reached up to coax his arms gently out from under his head, smoothing out his shoulders to make them easier to work on. You looked at his profile, his cheek resting on the bed as he tried to see you out of the corner of his eye.

“Relax,” you encouraged him. “Close your eyes.”

His eyebrow quirked up, but he did as you commanded, letting his eyes slip closed as you started off slow and gentle on his shoulders. It became quickly apparent, however, that his very stiff muscles would need a bit more persuasion than “gentle.”

You took it as a good sign when he let out a long and slow breath, his shoulders gradually becoming more malleable under your hands. It made you smile, reminded of how nice it could be to help someone wind _down_ instead of winding them _up_. It had been a while since you’d had the opportunity.

“Okay?” you asked him softly, receiving nothing but an affirmative hum in reply.

You interpreted that as a greenlight to keep going, slowly and methodically moving down his back.

You winced when he suddenly drew in a sharp breath, your hands discovering that his mid and lower back were just a mess of knots.

“Just breathe,” you murmured softly. “I’ll stop if you tell me it’s too much, but we should really work these out.”

He nodded his permission for you to keep going, so you did, trying to be as gentle as you could while still working to loosen the tense muscles.

“Damn, look at these _knots_ ,” you marveled, kneading firmly as he concentrated on breathing through the discomfort. “It’s a miracle you can even move.”

“Heh,” he laughed humorlessly. “I’ve felt way worse, believe me.”

“I believe it.”

As predicted, it was trickier to work the tension from his back through the fabric of his shirt, making you frown.

“I’ll be right back.” You left the bed, going to one of the drawers in the dresser, quickly finding what you were looking for.

You turned back, a bottle of massage oil in your hand, to find Ford giving you a curious look.

“Trust me,” you reassured him, rejoining him on the mattress and returning to your position over him before rucking up the back of his undershirt.

He jumped with a tiny gasp, and you could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“I can’t do this properly with the shirt in the way,” you said simply, popping the cap on the bottle and spilling a little bit into your palm before rubbing your hands together. “Just trust me, this will be better.”

He seemed apprehensive, but didn’t protest when you put your slightly oily palms to his skin, resuming your earlier ministrations to the tense muscles.

It was so much better, so much easier, and you couldn’t help the smug little smile of satisfaction when he finally started to relax.

You also couldn’t help looking at the aforementioned scars he had warned you about. Most seemed superficial, but there was one looked like the result of a laser gun, and another that looked like the result of a claw. You burned with curiosity, wondering what kind of adventure could have created such injuries, but if there was one thing you had learned with this job, it was that it was better not to ask about things like that. Respecting your client’s privacy was not only good business, but made you less likely to end up in trouble.

You sat back for a moment when all the muscles in his back were finally soothed, satisfied that this idea had been a good one. He was very clearly on the verge of sleep, his breath slow and his eyes closed, whole body at ease.

“Gonna doze off on me, science guy?” you asked in a soft whisper, carefully straightening his shirt out before leaning down to lay over him, your mouth close to his ear.

He hummed softly. “It’s quite tempting.”

“It’s your time, honey, you can spend it how you like.”

He sighed, his eye cracking open a sliver. “Speaking of, how much of that do I have left?”

He had paid for a two hour block, and the softly glowing clock on the wall interface informed you he still had close to an hour and fifteen minutes left. You relayed that information to him, and he hummed again.

“Could you wake me in twenty minutes?” he asked hopefully.

“Sure.”

“And could you… stay where you are?”

Acting like a human blanket on top of his warm, strong back? Yes, you absolutely could. You settled in a bit more comfortably in answer, pillowing your head on his shoulder and straightening your legs out to rest on top of his.

“Good?” you asked him.

“Yes,” he replied simply.

Admittedly, you hated him a tiny bit when he was lightly snoring in under five minutes, obviously practiced in the art of falling asleep quickly. It was practical, to say the least, and you envied the ability.

Which left you to watch the time, quite comfortably relaxed in your position on top of him; a bit of a contrast to how you usually found yourself with a man under you. The realization almost made you giggle, but you managed to silence yourself to keep from waking Ford.

He was an interesting fellow, you decided, and not just because of his six fingers thing. They were intriguing, though, and you raised your head slowly to look at one of his hands.

You honestly hadn’t noticed. The extra fingers were so seamlessly part of his hands that it just hadn’t registered for you until he had pointed it out. You were sure you would have made the realization _eventually_ , but the fact that he didn’t seem interested in having his touch all over you meant you weren’t looking at them too closely.

You laid your head back down with a sigh, glancing at the clock again. You were almost tempted to doze off yourself, enjoy a nice little power nap with him, but decided against it. You didn’t want to risk the both of you accidentally sleeping through the rest of his time.

Which left you to daydream instead, your nose full of Ford’s undershirt. It smelled freshly cleaned, and you wondered if he had taken advantage of the public shower and laundry facility on the station right before coming up. Most did, thankfully; the station’s position in the galaxy and its capabilities as a sort of interplanetary halfway point meant that most travelers arrived there looking for showers, food, and a bit of entertainment before starting the next leg of their journeys. The pleasure house was just one of several attractions to tempt them into staying and spending their cash.

It made you wonder more about Ford. It was clearly lonely work, his study of anomalies, if he was so desperate for connection that he was paying just to be held. Did he ever work with other scientists? Did he just chase strange things through the universe, taking notes and asking questions, or was he the type to get his hands on the things he studied, dissect them to understand how they work? What about his family? Did he have one? Parents, siblings?

Ford really was an anomaly, alright; you never wondered this much about clients. Pretty much every client that walked through the door was here because they were lonely, they wanted some kink fulfilled that they couldn’t get from their spouse, or just because they were horny and had cash to blow. There wasn’t much to wonder, and half the time you wouldn’t have been able to remember their faces if your life depended on it, save for a handful of regulars that favored you whenever they passed through. To your embarrassment, you kind of found yourself hoping Ford would become one of them.

You stole another look at his profile, his lips parted slightly in sleep. He wasn’t “traditionally” attractive, you could admit; nose and ears too large for that, but there was something very handsome about him nonetheless. His jaw and chin were incredible, strong and prominent in a way that seemed to balance out his nose. Paired with that beautiful, thick brown hair and his solid, strong body, there was something undeniably magnetic about this young scientist.

You let yourself lose some time just looking at him, the occasional twitch of his eyelids indicating that he was probably dreaming. Nap-dreams for you tended to be strange and vivid, and you wondered if the same held true for him.

The next thing you knew, you were glancing at the clock, surprised to find that it had actually been twenty-three minutes.

 _Oops,_ you thought. _Well… I can give a little wiggle room to account for the time it took him to actually fall asleep, right?_

Still, you brought your hands up to his arms, rubbing gently at his biceps to coax him out of sleep.

He startled awake with a little snuffle, tensing under you for a moment until you murmured his name. “You’re alright, honey.”

He relaxed, and you gave an encouraging squeeze to his arms again with a little smile he couldn’t see. “Sorry. But you did tell me twenty minutes.”

“I did, yes, thank you,” he sighed. “Sorry, it’s just always a bit disorienting, waking up these days. I feel like I’m in a new place every time, so I have to be prepared for anything.”

You nodded, stroking your palms down to his elbows, then back up again.

“Did you dream?” you asked. “It looked like you were dreaming.”

He sighed again, sliding one hand across the mattress to rub his eyes. “Yes, I was.”

“Good dream, I hope?”

He gave a little hum, still rubbing his eyes. “Yes… actually. It was a nice change of pace.”

“Aw,” you murmured sympathetically. “I’m sorry you have bad dreams a lot. What was this one about?”

He didn’t answer immediately, finally letting his hand fall away from his face and lay curled beside his head.

“My home,” he eventually told you softly. “The town I grew up in.”

It didn’t take a genius to hear the vulnerability in his confession, the bittersweet longing.

“I’d love to hear about it,” you encouraged him gently. “If you’re comfortable with that.”

He didn’t answer for another minute, so you just kept on with what you were doing; touching his arms gently, leaving your weight draped over him as comfortingly as you could manage.

When he moved—weight shifting to the side slightly, indicating that he wanted to turn over—you lifted yourself up on your hands and knees, allowing him to roll onto his back before you settled over him again, resting your head on his chest, your hands tucked under your chin. He turned a bit pink, but didn’t protest, instead laying his hands on your back comfortably.

“Mostly it was the ocean,” he said. “I grew up in a beach town, and spent so much time beside the water, in the water, _on_ the water. Thought for a while that I’d explore it, too, sail from place to place with—”

He stopped, looking up at the ceiling before clearing his throat. “Anyway. The dream’s slipping away, now, but I remember being by the water, and I remember walking on the boardwalk. Nothing really exciting happened, I don’t think, I was just there, like I was when I was a kid.”

You wondered who he was with, who he had stopped himself from talking about. Parent? Significant other? Best friend?

“It sounds lovely,” you said instead of asking, then gave a little smile. “You must have been so tan as a kid.”

He chortled, his hands pressing a little more firmly against your back. “Sunburned, more like. Sadly I never really tanned well.”

You could picture it, his skin hot and red, with funny tan lines from tank shirts and sandals. It made you grin in amusement despite yourself. “Pity.”

“Yes, well,” he sighed, stroking one broad palm up and down your back. “For the best, I suppose. Means I never sat out baking in the sun for hours, less chance of skin cancer.”

“True,” you acknowledged. “And you said you spent time on the water too? Sailing, fishing, all that?”

He nodded. “Yes, we were quite fortunate. My father didn’t have the time to take us out on the water himself, but there was a retired postman who lived next door who loved to bring us along with him when he went out. Said it made him feel young to be around our energy. He kind of became an adopted uncle, so to speak.”

“Us?” you ventured to question, absolutely dying of curiosity but trying not to come on too strong.

He looked caught, a hint of panic on his features before he smoothed it away, a dejected kind of sadness taking its place. “Oh, er… yes. My brothers and I.”

“How many do you have?”

“Two,” he sighed, looking back at the ceiling. “Sherman’s the oldest, and Stanley. My… twin.”

It was very clear to you that something had happened there; the tension in his jaw, his steadfast stare at the ceiling, even the change in his breathing.

“I’m sorry,” you decided to say. His gaze shifted down, back to you. “It’s clear this is a painful topic. We don’t have to talk about it, if it’s going to upset you.”

His jaw relaxed marginally, and he seemed to make an effort to take a deep, soothing breath. “I appreciate that.”

There was silence for a few moments, so you decided to turn your head, moving your hands to either side of his chest before laying your ear against his sternum instead of keeping your head propped up on your chin.

You listened to the thud of his heartbeat, the whoosh of his lungs, and Ford stroked his hands over your back again.

You thought about the ocean. It had been a long damn time since you had seen it in person. It had been a long damn time since you’d seen any sort of planet, as a matter of fact. Maybe it was time for a vacation.

It made you wonder what kind of places Ford had seen on his travels.

“Would you tell me about your work?” you asked. “Studying anomalies sounds like quite an opportunity for adventure.”

That seemed to make him brighten, his hands giving you a little squeeze and a thoughtful hum rumbling in his chest. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. I’ve certainly seen some interesting things. Let me see…”

Once you got him rolling, Ford seemed all too happy to regale you with tales of the wild, unusual creatures he had seen, his adventures and misadventures. It was enthralling; he became so animated, talking with his hands, his tone shifting to suit the tension of the story.

It wasn’t enough to just listen, so you shifted a bit to better see his face; sliding off to his side slightly, jamming a pillow under your head right beside his to look him in the eyes as he spoke.

He would have made a wonderful teacher, you decided; he happily answered your questions, explaining everything with clarity and focus that would have been amazing to see in the front of a classroom.

In return you gave him details of some of the more unusual clients and even fellow workers in the pleasure house that had crossed your path through the years. You kept it PG, simply telling him what you knew of the species, describing them in as much detail as you could remember. It was undeniably pleasing to have his attention, to have someone like him interested in what you had to say to such a degree.

So pleasing, that when the room’s lighting flickered, a soft bell sound signalling that his time was up, it filled you with disappointment.

“I suppose… that’s my cue to take my leave,” Ford murmured. He looked just as disappointed as you were.

“Technically,” you sighed. “Unless you plan to pay for another hour.”

His face went pink, and he rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead awkwardly. “Sadly… I’m going to be honest, I simply can’t afford it. Just these two hours were an indulgence that has depleted most of my currency.”

To say that alarmed you would be an understatement. He was so desperate for a cuddle and someone to talk to that he was risking running out of money? How “depleted” was “depleted”? Would he be able to eat tonight?

The bell chimed again, a bit more insistent, waiting for you to walk him to the door and confirm that he was finished his appointment. It made you sigh, regretfully pulling away from him and sitting up.

“That bell’s just going to get pushier,” you said, “and we only have a ten minute window before the system charges you again, so we’d better get a move on.”

He nodded as you shuffled to the edge of the bed, putting your feet down on the floor as he sat up and retrieved his glasses from where they were still hanging from the headboard.

Your mind flicked from thought to thought as you moved toward the dresser to get his clothes for him. You were concerned about him, you couldn’t help it. You were concerned for his well being, and what this little “indulgence” would cost him in the long run.

His expression was soft when you handed him his sweater, a bittersweet little smile in the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, for today. For not thinking it was silly.”

It wasn’t silly. You had a feeling it was something you hadn’t even realized you needed too.

He pulled the sweater over his head, tugging down the hem before reaching to take his belt out of your hand as your mind whirled with the conflict of _Should I? Shouldn’t I?_

“Do you have someplace to stay tonight?” you found yourself blurting out as he threaded his belt through the first two loops on his pants.

It made him pause, looking at you for a long moment. “I… have no set plans.”

You interpreted that as a “no.”

“I never do this,” the words tumbled out of your mouth, “but would you want to stay with me tonight? We can do dinner, talk some more? I don’t want you roughing it.”

A mix of emotions passed over his face; he was surprised, touched, apprehensive, and hopeful by turns until he opened his mouth to speak. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“That would be…” He let out a quick breath, then gave you a happy little smile. “That would be so kind of you, _thank you._ ”

You quickly stepped up to the wall as he hurriedly threaded the rest of his belt through his belt loops, tapping in the confirmation that his session was finished.

“I still have to finish my shift,” you informed him, turning to watch him sit on the bed to put his socks on. “So you can either stay in my apartment or wander around the station until I’m done for the day.”

He tugged his boots back on, then stood, gathering his coat. “I’ll wander around the station. You’re already letting me impose on your far too graciously.”

You waved him off as you pressed the button to open the door. “Nonsense. I’ve liked spending time with you today, Ford, your company is not a burden, believe me.”

He looked so bashful and pleased, stepping toward the door with a happy little smile on his face. “When shall I return?”

You looked at the time. “Three hours. I’ll meet you in the bar?”

He nodded, and you gave him a soft smile of your own as you pulled him into a tight embrace before allowing him to step out the door. “See you then.”


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of your shift went slowly, as you expected. You managed to get one more client to round out your afternoon, which thankfully helped make the time go faster, then you took a quick shower before throwing on an airy, casual dress and meeting Ford in the bar.

He was talking amiably to the bartender, which didn’t really surprise you considering he was an octamien; it made him great at his job, having 8 limbs with which to pour drinks, and the perfect kind of being that Ford would be curious about.

“How’s it hanging, Torbin?” you asked him as you took a seat beside Ford, who gave you a bashful little smile.

“Even better now that you’ve joined the party,” he replied suavely, his shimmery blue skin looking iridescent in the bar’s mood lighting.

“Flatterer.” You grinned, picking up the glass he slid your way and taking a sip; your favorite, as always.

You spared a quick look around the bar as Torbin was flagged down by a couple of Axons at the other end; it was certainly getting busier than it was earlier in the day, and it looked like a Federation transport ship was partly to thank for that. They arrived with regularity to fuel up and allow the passengers a night of rest (or frivolity, as the case may be), before setting out again. The pay was always good, when they rolled up to the station, so you were a little disappointed to be missing the opportunity.

Still, turning to look at Ford reminded you that you were going to have a nice night either way.

“What did you find to occupy yourself this afternoon?” you asked him, noticing that his glass was just filled with water, which simply would not do.

“Just wandered around, taking notes, that sort of thing,” he waved his hand passively with a little shrug. “Boring by your standards, I’m sure.”

“Hey now, ‘people watching’ is a time-honored past-time, my dear doctor,” you nudged his elbow with your own slightly, giving him a little smile. “As is having an actual drink while in a bar, what do you want?”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I—”

“It’s on me, and I insist,” you nodded at Torbin, bringing him back over to your side of the bar. “Whatever you want, I mean it.”

“You’re sure?” he asked apprehensively.

“Positive.”

He hesitated for a moment more, then gave you a small smile. “What do you recommend, then?”

“Try this,” you said, holding out your glass for him to try.

“Hm,” he hummed thoughtfully, swirling it around his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “That’s rather good.”

“Coming right up.” Torbin said, making one for Ford as well and adding it to your tab.

You talked about the station, Ford describing some of the beings he had seen during his time wandering around, with you informing him of what they were called when you could. You watched Ford’s cheeks take on a cute, rosy blush from the alcohol, and you wondered when they last time was that he ate something.

“Dinner?” you eventually asked. “I’m a pretty decent cook, you know.”

He smiled, letting you take him by the hand as you departed from the bar with a final wave to Torbin; one of the benefits of being a regular, both with clients and without—Torbin had your info on file to settle your bill, and you had a mutual trust that he would take the 20% tip you always gave him and nothing more.

This time when you pressed your palm to the door to your apartment, you pulled Ford in behind you, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, intrigued of what his reaction to your living space might be.

He looked around with open curiosity; it wasn’t a huge space, but it was comfortable, having a living room area/kitchen combo, with a toilet and separate bedroom through adjoining doors. Your decor in here was different from the decor in your client room—warmer colors, and of course far more personal items, along with a window-sim screen built into the wall. You currently had it set to project the image of a forest, the dappled sunlight shining cheerily through the trees, mimicking a late afternoon that was creeping toward sunset.

“Make yourself at home,” you encouraged him, letting go of his hand so you could step around the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living area, going to the food preserver to begin making a meal for the both of you.

It wasn’t always easy to get variety at the space station; transporting goods out this far could be costly, depending on what it was. Nutrition pills and food bricks were easy to get and served their purpose, of course, but they could get horrifically boring.

Thankfully, there had been a shipment of simple dry and dehydrated goods recently, which meant you could at least offer self-baking bread, along with rehydrated chicken and freshly cooked rice. It was amazing what having a hot meal could do to lift your spirits, you had found.

You watched Ford out of the corner of your eye as he looked around, hands clasped behind his back as he stepped up to the simulation window.

“Any requests?” you asked him. He answered with an inquiring hum, so you elaborated. “The sim window. You can change it, if you’d like. Put us under the sea, on a mountain range, on the edge of a meteor field; whatever you want.”

“The forest is fine,” he replied, “it reminds me of—”

His pause drew your gaze, finding his face a little forlorn.

“Gravity Falls,” he eventually decided to say, turning from the window to look at you. “The town I lived in after college, where I did most of my work on anomalies. It was quite beautiful, really. Oregon forests all around, lush green, a beautiful lake.”

“Do you miss it?”

You knew the answer before he even replied, it was written all over his face. “Yes. Very much.”

“Think you’ll ever go back?”

He looked pained by the question, turning his head back toward the sim window with a grimace. “I doubt it, I’m afraid.”

You were good enough at reading people to see the “DO NOT PURSUE” sign hanging over this conversation, so you let things lapse into silence as you finished preparing the food.

“I’m sorry,” Ford spoke up when you reached for the plates in one of the cabinets, stepping closer to the counter. “I should help with something.”

“You’re alright.” You gave him a reassuring smile as you set the plates on the counter, then went for the utensils. “It’s a small space, Ford, you’d just be in the way. Have a seat.”

He pulled out a bar stool with a little nod, watching you add water to the plate that had the self-baking bread pellet on it. With a soft fizzle it began to expand and cook itself, turning into a lightly steaming loaf in about a minute.

“Amazing,” he said as you got out a knife to cut off several slices. “Amazing what things we can come up with to make life easier, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’ll drink to that,” you agreed, “Which reminds me, I need to get us drinks.”

“Just water, if you please,” he requested, and you obliged, setting the glass in front of him before getting one of your own.

“Cheers,” you said, tapping his glass against yours with a soft tink, then plating the chicken and rice with a satisfied sigh.

“Hope it’s alright,” you said, coming around the counter to sit beside him. “I know it’s not super fancy.”

“It’s wonderful,” he said with an earnest smile. “Truly, I’m so appreciative of your generosity, you have no idea.”

“Don’t mention it,” you reassured him. “I meant it when I said I liked my time with you today. I wanted it to continue, I’m just glad you felt the same.”

He looked bashful again, fiddling nervously with his fork before deciding to use it, stabbing a piece of chicken from his plate and shoving it into his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed, his shoulders relaxing, looking almost dreamy. Damn, how long had it been since he’d had something satisfying to eat?

Most of the meal passed in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just relaxed, each of you enjoying the company and the hot meal. You gave him a second helping before he even asked, his embarrassed smile far too endearing.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I should leave this for you.”

“Nonsense.” You patted his arm. “You need it, I can tell. Enjoy it, honey, it’s alright.”

His smile got a little wider, gratitude clear in his eyes as you began to clean up while he finished, loading everything into the sonic washer.

The sun was setting in the sim window, giving the apartment a warm, gentle glow, and you watched Ford’s face for a long moment as he looked out into the trees. There was longing there; a kind of bittersweet appreciation for the facsimile forest while wishing he was in the real one he obviously missed.

When everything was clear and the sonic washer was humming away, you decided to take his hand, meeting his questioning, raised eyebrows with a smile.

He paused in the doorway of your bedroom, but you encouraged him with another smile and a soft, “It’s alright, come on.”

He didn’t object when you slid his coat off his shoulders, hanging it in your closet before nudging him toward the bed. “Come on, we’re picking up where we left off earlier. I’m not done with you yet, Corduroy, we’ve got more cuddling to do.”

He allowed you to gently push him down to sit on the bed, looking at you with a surprised kind of awe. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” you laughed. “Kick your shoes off, get comfortable.”

Another moment of surprised staring, then he hastily reached down to get his boots off while you stepped into the toilet to change back into the clothes you had worn during his session that day.

You stepped back out to find that he had actually stripped down to his undershirt of his own volition this time, though he was now awkwardly standing by the foot of the bed, waiting for you.

"You don't have to indulge me in this," he murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets and biting his lip for a moment. "I'm sure I'm disrupting your routine, and—"

"You're not," you interjected. "I was going to tuck in with a book tonight, and I can still very easily do that with you in bed with me, Ford."

He seemed to perk up at that. "I see. And... what book, may I ask?"

You crossed your arms with an amused raise of your eyebrows. "Why, you gonna judge my pick?"

"No." His eyes looked entirely too round and innocent, which means you didn't believe him for a second. "I'm just... curious."

"Probably too low brow for you." You gave him a look as you fetched your digital reader. "But it’s a series about this lady knight. Lots of magic and adventuring and stuff. I’ve been reading the books since I was a teenager, and I just like rereading it once in a while.”

He looked far more intrigued than you thought he would be, giving you a wide smile. “That sounds magnificent. I’m a bit of an enthusiast for medieval storytelling, as a matter of fact.”

“Really?” The way Ford came across, you would have guessed he was a classic lit snob or something equally sophisticated.

“Truly!” Ford mirrored you as you moved to pull down the covers on the bed, doing the same on the opposite side. “Do you have Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons here?”

That made you laugh, propping up the pillow to lean back on. “God, you’d fit right in here. Half the staff on the station play it.”

He looked way too excited about that, making you chortle as you settled in under the covers, crossing your ankles and patting your lap with one hand as you held your digital reader with the other. “You gonna rush off to find someone to play with or you gonna lay your head in my lap?”

He blushed adorably, hiking one knee up onto the bed with a bashful grin.

“One condition?” he murmured hopefully, and you raised your eyebrows to indicate he should continue. “Would you… be willing to read the book out loud?”

That was goddamn near one of the sweetest requests you had ever gotten, second only to the adorably innocent cuddling he had asked of you earlier.

“I would be _delighted_ to read to you,” you said earnestly, giving him a sweet smile as he moved the rest of the way onto the bed.

You took his glasses from him, putting them on the bedside table before he got comfortable; he ended up lying parallel to your legs, his head on your lap like you had invited him to do, with his arms wrapped around your knees.

It was far too easy to pet your hand over his head, soothingly combing your fingers through his hair as you started to read.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you had read to someone, or had someone read to you, for that matter. There was just something so pleasant about it, so satisfying.

You made it through about a third of the book and a couple hours before your voice started to tire, and after the third time you softly cleared your throat, Ford turned his head to look at you.

“Getting tired?” he asked. He looked sleepy himself, his eyes at half-mast and his voice quiet.

“Little bit,” you confessed. “Mind if we call it a night after we finish this chapter?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

Thankfully it was only a few more pages before you were setting the device aside on your bedside table, arching your back in a stretch with a long sigh.

“What do you think so far?” you asked him, sliding your hand down from his hair to his shoulders, rubbing your open hand along them slowly.

“It’s great,” he sighed, squeezing his arms around your knees a little. “You said it’s a series, correct?”

“Four books.” You nodded. “Which is nice, it’s not a terribly daunting commitment.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, sighing again before removing his head from your lap and rolling onto his back, also taking a moment to stretch with a yawn.

“Time to sleep?” you asked him.

“Time to sleep,” he echoed with a nod.

Ford fetched a neat little toiletry bag from an inner pocket of his coat, and you took turns in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, washing your faces, all the other odds and ends of a nightly routine.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly as the two of you got back into bed. “Really. Everything you’ve done for me today—”

“Don’t mention it,” you gave him a smile, scooting closer across the mattress. “It’s been nice for me too, Ford, really.”

His smile was soft and grateful, so you gave him a little wink before turning off the lights using the control panel beside the bed.

“You need your space to sleep properly or do you wanna get cozy?” you asked him, his awkward little chuff in answer making you grin.

“I don’t… know? The nap with you earlier today was nice, but I don’t know about a proper night’s sleep that way. I’ve never, er… had the opportunity to share a bed to sleep in such a way before.”

Truth be told it had been a while for you too, being in bed with someone else just to sleep overnight. “How about we get cozy now, and if you don’t like it later we just move apart?”

“Okay,” he agreed quietly.

“I’ll even let you be the big spoon if you want,” you teased lightly as you moved closer, but his audible hum of thought suggested he might indeed like that.

“That would be nice, if you’re amenable,” he ventured, making you smile. Wordlessly, you turned away from him, shuffling back as he shuffled closer, the two of you meeting in the approximate middle of the bed, wedging the pillows together a little to accommodate.

“I—um—what do I do with my other hand?” he asked awkwardly as you pressed together, and you bit back a giggle.

“Under the pillow,” you suggested, “or between us, if you prefer, you can sort of rest your elbow on the bed and curl your hand up onto your side.”

A bit of shuffling, and he decided on option two before curling his knees up behind yours and looping his other hand over your waist.

“Goodnight,” you murmured to him.

“Goodnight,” he answered.

You didn’t know exactly how long it took you to fall asleep, only that when you next woke up, Ford was snoring softly, his breath tickling the hair on the back of your head a little. What the time was you couldn’t guess, only that you didn’t really care in that moment.

What you _did_ care about, however, was the familiar feeling of hardness nudging against your ass. Considering Ford’s current state of sleep, you knew it was completely unintentional, but it couldn’t help but pique your curiosity.

You were willing to bet money that Ford was a virgin, and you were also willing to bet money that it was by choice, at least to some degree (otherwise, why wouldn’t he have indulged in your full service earlier in the day?). What you were less sure of was the motivation; lack of interest, some moral code, a far away love that he was saving himself for? Any were possible, all made you curious.

It had been quite a while since you had indulged in sex that didn’t have money involved. With the way people came and went at the station, it wasn’t super frequent you met someone you liked enough to offer it to.

You liked Ford, though. You liked him quite a lot.

Tentatively, you reached back to place your hand on him, stroking a gentle path from his hip to his knee, squeezing the joint gently and rubbing your thumb against the inseam of his trousers. He was quick to wake, coming around with a little huff then a small suck of air, his body tensing with awareness before relaxing marginally. Remembering where he was and who he was with, you reckoned.

He murmured your name in a soft, questioning tone, and for a moment you just rubbed your thumb against the inside of his knee through his pants, choosing your words and hyper aware of the way he sucked in a little breath at the touch.

“Can I ask you something?”

It took a couple beats for him to answer, clearing his throat quietly when he realized you were waiting for his acquiescence.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“We could have done both today,” you murmured. “Had sex and cuddled, we had enough time. Is there a reason you weren’t interested in that?”

His throat made an audible sound as he swallowed, his arm still draped over your waist tensing slightly, and several long seconds of silence followed your question, during which you waited on pins and needles for either an answer or a refusal to talk about it.

“I don’t mean any disrespect to your profession,” he eventually muttered, “but I just never… saw myself as someone who would pay for sex.”

You weren’t offended; it wasn’t something everyone would want to do in their life, and you understood that.

“Have you ever been with anyone, then?” you couldn’t help but ask.

He cleared his throat awkwardly again, then another audible swallow.

“My knack for relationships has never been very good,” he replied, not elaborating beyond that but he didn’t really need to.

“Do you want to?”

He froze for a moment, then let out a long breath, murmuring you name again with uncertainty.

“You’re not my client right now,” you reminded him, squeezing his knee slightly. “I’m not offering it as a service, I’m offering as someone who likes you, because I really want to. Because I think you’re attractive and interesting and I think it would be nice. And I can count the number of times that’s happened on one hand.”

He was quiet, but he wasn’t pulling away and he wasn’t immediately shutting you down, which gave you a nugget of hope.

You risked stroking your hand back up his thigh, his little shutter of breath rustling the hair on the back of your head. Your hand lingered on his hip, your fingers squeezing slightly, and Ford made a little choked sound that seemed to be his attempt at suppressing a moan. Subtly, you could feel his hips hitch a little against yours.

“We don’t have to,” you added, “we can pretend this conversation never happened, go back to sleep. But I’d be kicking myself forever if I didn’t at least ask.”

He was silent for another beat, before his arm tightened around you more firmly and he breathed out a confession in a rushed whisper, “I’ve never had sex before.”

 _Duh, obviously,_ is what you thought, but what you replied was, “You’d be surprised how common that is in my line of work.”

That seemed to throw him off a little, a long pause following your statement before he finally muttered, “But when they’re bad in bed at least you get compensated for it.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed, twisting around until you were on your back, rubbing your hand up his arm warmly. “ _That’s_ what you’re worried about? That you won’t be any good and I’ll be offended by that?”

You couldn’t see his face, the room far too dark for that, but his sulky silence was fairly self-explanatory.

“If that’s seriously your only hang-up, you really don’t need to worry,” you encouraged him. “I’ll teach you a few things. You’re a smart guy, I have faith that you’ll be a good student.”

He was quiet for a few moments more, his breathing soft beside your ear, but with the way your upper arm was pressed against his chest you could feel how rapidly his heart was beating.

“Okay,” he eventually whispered. “Yes, I… yes.”

You couldn’t help the bubble of excitement in your chest, your own heart starting to beat a little faster as you turned toward him more, gently pushing on his shoulder to roll him onto his back.

“Just tell me if I do something you don’t like, okay?” You sat up, pushing the covers down enough for you to maneuver, and promptly swung your knee over his hips to straddle him. He gasped, hands going to your hips, and you decided that you wanted to be able to see him.

You reached up for the light panel, setting the brightness to a soft 10%. Just enough to see each other without being too glaring or harsh on your darkness-adjusted eyes. Still, Ford blinked rapidly a few times as the dim light came on, looking a bit nervous, but the stiffness you could still feel between your legs gave an eager twitch against the seam of his pants.

You gave him a little smile, encouragingly placing your hands on his chest and stroking warmly, moving up to his shoulders then down to his belly, the fabric of his undershirt rustling softly. Then you leaned down, returning your palms to his chest for balance, to press your mouth against his.

The scratch of his stubble rubbed lightly against your chin and upper lip, and his breath still carried the faint smell of toothpaste. You liked kisses like this; just soft, just lips—no overeager tongue, no hard mash of teeth. And if the breathy, dreamy moan from Ford was anything to go by, he liked it too.

"Good?" you couldn't help but ask in a soft whisper, rubbing your thumbs against his chest.

"Yes, that's..." he answered just as softly, hands clenching slightly on your hips and throat audibly swallowing. "...that's quite nice."

You grinned, sinking down even further until you were laying flat over him, arms sliding up until your elbows were planted on the mattress on either side of his head and your chest was pressed firmly against his.

You didn’t resist the urge to kiss him again, sighing out a soft little moan of satisfaction as you did so. You wondered if this was his first experience with kissing too, but the way he angled his head a moment later made you less certain of that theory. Even less when he tentatively touched the tip of his tongue against the seam of your lips.

His initiative made you smile, letting him shallowly explore your mouth—soft and curious rather than insistent—his tongue meeting yours for a gentle touch. Then it was your turn for exploration; curling your tongue behind his teeth before nibbling his lip, his shiver and gasp so very pleasing.

"Can I...?" he began to ask, hands sliding up to your waist before he paused, letting you kiss him again for a long moment.

"What?" you murmured, scratching your fingers against his chest warmly.

"May I sit up?"

His politeness was so endearing; you smiled a little as you shifted your hands to his shoulders, pulling him up as you sat back. You couldn't complain about the change; it made kissing him easier—less strain on your neck to simply tilt your head instead of hovering over him. He shifted his legs as well, pulling them up to criss-cross under you supportively, and you settled comfortably into his lap. 

He moaned a little when you shifted your hands into his hair, cupping the back of his head as you scratched your fingers against his scalp. You knew he liked having his hair played with, it had been obvious from the first time you had done it hours ago during his session, but doing it now—with the intent to turn him on—made satisfaction hum through you.

It almost made you laugh, though, the way he kept his hands politely on your waist, fingers periodically squeezing but never moving from their hold. It was an amusing counter to the way his hips kept hitching, trying to get some fiction in the space between your thighs but far too many clothes in the way. You’d get to the bulge in the front of his trousers soon enough, but baby steps to get there felt appropriate for his lack of experience.

He chased your mouth when you leaned back, eyes closed and cheeks just visibly pink in the low light, his dreamy expression so sweetly handsome, making your heart flutter despite yourself. It took a moment after that for his eyes to open, a little pinch of confusion between his eyebrows that was far too endearing, and you couldn’t help but grin as you pressed a chaste kiss to his nose with amusement. Before he could ask if something was wrong, you reached down for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in a practiced motion before tossing it on the floor.

“Oh,” he murmured, the slightly starstruck look on his face sweetly flattering, his gaze inevitably drawn down to your chest and his lips slightly parted.

You giggled, petting your fingers over his hair again before trailing them down his shoulders and arms, your palms eventually landing on the backs of his hands and guiding them upward from your waist.

“I’d like it if you touched me,” you encouraged softly, his eyes coming back up to yours as he visibly swallowed.

Wordlessly, he nodded, looking back down at your chest as his hands drew up your torso, his thumbs tentatively brushing the sides of your breasts. You didn’t rush him; you were in no hurry, and his sweet exploration was a nice change of pace.

You gave him a soft, encouraging hum when he finally moved to cup you in his hands, curiously thumbing your nipples and licking his lips, his expression that of someone who was fiercely debating what he wanted to do next—so many options available to him he was struggling to choose. Honestly, you could relate; there was so much you could show him. He was a bit of a blank slate when it came to this, there were so many possibilities.

You felt confident, though, that ditching the rest of the clothes was a good first step in the right direction.

Ford huffed out a surprised little breath when you went for the hem of his undershirt, tugging it up until he raised his arms to let you pull it off. You carelessly dropped the fabric off the edge of the bed to join your shirt on the floor, and it became your turn to appreciate. He was nicely muscular, there was no denying that, and you happily petted your hands over the thick, dark hair covering his skin from his clavicles down to his belly.

“Damn, it’s a shame you hide this under so many layers,” you murmured in a little tease, glancing up at his face as you smiled. His blush intensified adorably, his stomach tensing under your hands with a little pant. “Think you’d be willing to ditch the pants too?”

His eyes widened, a shiver running through him, and you couldn’t tell if it was a sign of his excitement or nervousness at the prospect.

“Okay,” he whispered, his nod a little frantic in nature, but the clench of his jaw determined. “Okay, yes, we can do that.”

“You handle your clothes while I handle mine?” you offered. It seemed like that option might fluster him a little less than your fingers on his zipper might.

“Yes,” he agreed, his little sigh of relief telling you your guess was indeed the right one.

A mutual nod, then you slid to the side, shimmying out of your cotton shorts while he undid his trousers, laying flat again for a moment so he could raise his hips and straighten his legs, pushing everything down and off. It all joined your shirts on the floor, and you decided now was probably a good time to grab a condom.

 _Always be prepared,_ you thought to yourself, retrieving one from your bedside drawer. It was always handy to have extras on hand, you had to say. Then you were back astride his lap, kissing the overwhelmed look from his face.

“Still okay?” you murmured, petting his hair again with one hand as his hands pressed open against your back. “You can still change your mind if this is too much, honey, I won’t be upset about it.”

He shook his head, letting out a long, slow breath as he trailed his hands up and down your back. “No, I’m okay.”

You nodded, holding up the condom for a moment for him to see so he would know what you were about to do. He nodded in return, watching you as you tore open the package expertly and rolled the thin material down his length. You hadn’t really given him a look when he first got his pants off; you were afraid of making him nervous, or self-conscious, so you had resisted the temptation. Now, though, you could feel the thick girth, the heat of his skin, and you were genuinely excited at the prospect of having him inside you.

“Huh,” he said.

“What?”

“It… I expected it to feel like something. Restrictive, or… something. It doesn’t feel like anything.”

“God bless science, huh?” You grinned. Having high end, ultra-thin, polymer condoms was one of the things Madame Florence prided herself on when it came to her customers having a good experience when they came through her doors.

He gave a little chortle, a soft grin on his mouth. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Then he paused, just looking at you for a moment, and you raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and you could see a bit more color come onto his cheeks before he was tilting his head in again to meet your for a kiss. “You’re just… beautiful.”

He sounded so bashful, pressing the compliment against your lips, his fingers trailing along the backs of your arms. It definitely wasn’t the first time someone had said that to you, of course, but the earnestness with which he said it made it so pleasing to hear.

“Thank you,” you murmured, hands trailing down to his chest. “So are you.”

He gave an awkward little snuffle, shaking his head a bit, which made you draw closer, pressing you firmly skin-to-skin from chest to waist against his warm body. A startled groan slipped from his throat, his hips hitching at the unexpected pressure of your pelvis against his cock, his full-body shiver delightful to witness.

“I will not hear a single argument otherwise,” you scolded playfully. “If I’m telling you you’re gorgeous and I’m not on the clock, you better believe I mean it.”

That drew a surprised little laugh from him, pulling back slightly to look at your face. “That’s, uh… thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled back, kissing him again with a content sigh, your arms loose around his shoulders and your hands sliding back into his hair.

The leisurely pace was nice, you had to admit; no clock to keep track of, no goals to achieve. Just kissing, just touching, just enjoying the warmth and sensations.

He gasped when you used your grip on his hair to tilt his head back, shifting your mouth to his neck to lay a line of kisses from his jaw to the curve of his shoulder, the hint of stubble that trailed down from his cheeks all the way to his Adam's apple tickling your lips. He _really_ seemed to like that, shivers breaking out over his skin and a little moan in his throat when you nibbled at the tendon on the side of his neck. His hands shifted, sliding up your back to curl over the top of your shoulders, squeezing and pulling you down against him a little harder to meet the upward cant of his hips.

A simple little shift of your hips made it even better for both of you, a quiet moan pressed against the side of his neck as just the right angle brought the length of his cock in contact with your clit, instead of just rubbing against your pubic bone.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, one of his hands shifting again to your lower back, squeezing you forward against him as you rocked into the pressure. You were damn glad you had put the condom on already, you wouldn’t be surprised if he got too excited to wait.

You grinned a little as you gave a tiny nip to his neck before leaning back, anchoring one hand on his shoulder as the other leaned back on the mattress, changing the angle yet again to let him feel the wetness that was beginning to form between your pussy lips.

It was almost funny, the way his eyes widened, gaze sliding down from your face to your chest, your belly, then lower, where he could watch the underside of his cock rub against your folds.

“God…” he muttered, watching and shivering as you pressed and dragged yourself over him from base to tip, teasing his cockhead with the edge of your opening before rubbing down his length again. “God, please show me how to touch you before I embarrass myself.”

You could admire his honesty, chortling a little as you reached up and back for the hand he still had wrapped around your shoulder, guiding it from behind you to trail down your chest and abdomen and between your legs.

“There’s one key part you should focus on,” you instructed, dipping his thumb down while the rest of his hand remained flat on your pelvis and lower belly, “and that is called the clitorus. All those delicious little nerve endings you have on the tip of your cock? That feel so good when you rub it? The clit is the female equivalent.”

You guided the rub of his digit, showing him the massaging little circles over the sensitive bud that would make your legs tremble, the pleasure dripping sweet through your cunt in little spasms. He watched avidly, gaze flicking between the touch of his hand and your face, mouth open slightly in an awed pant.

“There you go,” you encouraged him when it seemed he got the hang of it, letting go of your guiding touch to let him work you on his own. “That’s it. Knew you’d be a quick learner.”

He huffed with a bit of amusement, the crooked little half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth way more sexy than it had any right to be, just begging you to sit up and kiss it. So you did, hooking both arms around the back of his neck as you leaned into him, pressing a messy kiss to his mouth that made him moan.

He got louder when you resumed the grind of your hips too, rubbing his length between your lower lips while his thumb dutifully kept up those delicious little circles that were making your thighs quake. You considered for a second the idea of reaching down, of taking his cock in your hand and guiding him inside you, loving the idea of riding that thick length while he got you off with his fingers. His shudder and frantic buck up changed your mind; stamina was not something he was going to have tonight, there was a good change he was going to come just from entering you. Maybe you’d work up to it if he stuck around.

Instead you just kept up the slow, even rock of your hips, stimulating yourself and keeping him on edge.

“Close,” you gasped against his mouth, a sudden, sharp jolt of pleasure gripping your cunt when he adjusted his hand, the pad of his thumb rubbing almost too intensely on the sensitive nerves. “Oh my god, _please_.”

Ford moaned, breaking off from the kiss with another full-body shiver, panting hot against your face until you guided his head down, letting your own head tilt back limply as he took the hint and started kissing your chest.

“Fuck,” you squeaked, his hot tongue brushing your nipple, his thumb insistant between your legs. “Fuck, fuck…”

With another squeak the pleasure broke, orgasm shivering through you in a heady rush, hands holding tight to Ford as you ground and squirmed, humping against his hand and his cock in an uncoordinated rush of ecstasy that drew an outrageously sexy, deep moan from him that you could swear reverberated in your chest.

“Please,” you heard him gasp, a franticness to his hips that you couldn’t ignore. “Please…”

Your pussy was still spasming as you shoved your hand down, pushing Ford's hand out of the way to take him into your palm, rising up on shaky knees to press him at your entrance and sink down.

The strangled sound he made was _visceral,_ primal in a way that you didn't expect, making you gasp and clench and cling to his neck as he gave a handful of hurried, frantic thrusts up, his arms crushing you tight against his chest.

You knew he'd come when he shuddered with another deep moan, holding you down against him, hips hitching unevenly as he cock pulsed and pumped the condom full of spunk.

He was sweating, his skin damp along his scapulas and across his chest, but you didn't really care as you panted with him, hands petting his hair and down in back in long strokes.

"S-sorry," he gasped, raising his head to look at you apologetically. "I couldn't—it was too—"

"Don't for a _nanosecond_ feel bad about that," you said earnestly, cupping the side of his face gently. "It was your first time and I'd been working you up, there's nothing to apologize about. You did _great._ "

He bit his lip tentatively, his eyebrows knitted together. "You sure?"

"Are you kidding? You listened and learned what felt good to me and got me off, that's a win." You kissed the crease between his eyebrows. "And, you know... the night's still young. I might have more plans for you yet, Corduroy.”

You gave him a little smirk and a wink, but his expression didn’t lighten the way you’d hope it would, though the crease disappeared from between his eyebrows. He looked thoughtful, looking at you evenly with those soft brown eyes.

“Pines,” he eventually murmured.

You raised a questioning eyebrow. “Hm?”

“My last name,” he confessed, looking a little bashful. “It’s actually Pines. I used Corduroy at the door because I was embarrassed to give my real one.”

It wouldn’t be the first time someone did so, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, so it just made you chortle, giving your head a little shake of amusement. “Of course you were. Ford Pines, huh?”

He nodded.

“I like it,” you decided. “Rolls of the tongue real nice. Ford Pines. _Doctor_ Ford Pines.”

He smiled at that, so you kissed him again with a little laugh.

 _Maybe he can stay for a few days,_ you mused, deepening the kiss so you could suck his bottom lip between your teeth, relishing the gasp he gave in reply. _There is so much I can do to you, Ford Pines._

You’d ask him in a bit. Now was the time for seeing how fast his refractory period was.

**Author's Note:**

> Respect sex workers, y'all.
> 
> [tumblr](https://guilty-pleasures-abound.tumblr.com)


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